in which I prepare for the inevitable
When it happens again, I want it to be with a friend. Maybe this is dangerous to wish for. But when it happens again, because unfortunately, it will, I’d like it to be someone who loves me already.Â
“I’ve been thinking a lot lately. I have so many incredible friends. I have so many people in my life that I trust, that I know, that I love more than anything. People that have never steered me wrong”.Â
I was probably twisting one of my rings around my finger, or playing with my hair, as I do when I have to share anything about myself that I can’t make funny– I have to wring it out of me, squirm in my seat until it’s over like I’m getting blood drawn. Γιώτα was used to this by now, cross-legged in the seat across from me, doodling in her notebook. The tiny, fearsome woman that had been undoing the yarn-ball of my brain for a little over a year now hummed understandingly, waiting for me to continue.
“I seem to attract good people in my life in this way. So, why have all of my romantic relationships so far been the dumpster fire that they are?” I let a little laugh out. I’d thought about this one so much I had almost rehearsed the delivery. “Why do I have so many amazing friends, but my lovers so far have been kind of unreliable, horrible people?”
“Hm.” Tough crowd. My crassness unfortunately never fazed her. Even though I’d gotten her to laugh a handful of times in session, and rode that high for days after, she simply met me halfway with her gentle neutrality. “Why do you think that is?”
“I don’t know.” Γιώτα, you rascal, you’d think that’s why I asked. You could hear the gears in my brain screeching in agony; the task of keeping them turning is what I would imagine Sisyphus felt like, rolling his rock up the mountain. Did the writers of old discover the wheel? She kept her gaze on me, patiently. In therapy, silence is constructive, and you must hold space for it. It’s really fucking annoying.
“I think I would want my ideal partner to be like a best friend– just, you know, with the extra stuff. That’s what I really want, in theory.” It always sounds a lot more complicated in your head before you say it. “I want to be myself around them. But when I see someone romantically, it’s like a switch flips in my head; I feel like I have to approach it entirely differently.”
Thanks, Captain Obvious. “I definitely feel pressured to.. appear more desirable? More polished. I feel like there are some things you can’t say, with a love interest, some ways you can’t act.”Â
I have this thing, I think, where I overthink things to the point of them being really grandiose and metaphysical in my head, only to be brutally reminded that it’s an incredibly simple and common thought to have. I.e., you act different when there’s someone hot watching. It’s natural to want to impress somebody, to try and make yourself more marketable. If there’s one thing therapy has taught me, it’s that no amount of self-awareness, however painful and debilitating, strips you of your mortal fate. You can overthink all you want– you’re still just thinking. You’re doing extra credit work and no one is grading.Â
What I meant by that is, I don’t think anyone could want me if I was truly, really myself. It really is that simple. I feel as though someone would need convincing to love me. I have to sell myself a certain way. Because who could want me just like this, gnawed and spit out a thousand times over, take me with the diary entries, the filing cabinets of letters with no responses? I feel like a caricature of a woman; a girl who talks like a boy and acts like a boy sometimes, who sweats through her sheets, who has to paint herself human every day. I don’t know that someone could find that sexy. I can hardly stand myself most days. You couldn’t want this. And if you have, it’s like how people steal old cars to scavenge for parts. You wouldn’t know what to do with the rest of me.
I thought I’d grown past this. I do it all for her, you know? Sweet, loveless 14 year-old me. I can never put her to bed. I’m always bouncing her on my hip and rubbing her back, trying to convince her everything is gonna be okay. Ironically enough, that’s around when I already knew most of my dearest friends. The ones that have seen it all. I hold her to my chest, I run my fingers through her bluntly cut hair. As a matter of fact, she had more love than she knew what to do with, she and her stupid teal glasses. And in moments like these, I have to drag her by the hand and remind myself that she still does.
I love to sulk, I really do. Roll around in my own misery like a dog in a puddle. I see couples kissing at the beach and I hope, one of them specifically, is struck by lightning on the spot. I see my ex’s new girl, and I have nothing against her but I need her to be uglier than me. I’m truly, wholly awful when it comes to these things. There’s an art to it, really, being a miserable, lonely woman. And the thing is, I joke that I’ll die alone, but I know that isn’t true. I’ve never been alone, and I never will be.Â
I’ve thought to myself before that I’m a little in love with all my friends. I feel like if you aren’t, you aren’t doing it right. Me and my sweet, evil girls, the nights we drink our potions and cackle like witches from our rooftops. My brothers in arms, when we weave our sorrows into melodies and laugh until our eyes burn. The ones I carry with me wherever I go, a call away, little creatures nestled in my pocket. The ones I barely talk to but would never deny me a bed.
They’re all so beautiful it brings tears to my eyes. How they snort when they laugh, the chocolate around their mouths, the way their edges catch the light. How I can’t seem to act normal around other people, because around them, I can’t help but be myself. How I’m incapable of keeping my mouth shut because the joy spills out of me. The goth boys from the park, the losers at the town hall, the lesbians, the cinephiles and overall degenerates. Looking back on this, I really can’t help but smile to myself. What a beautiful predicament to be in. What a darling problem to have. Awful as I am, I’ll never be without company.Â
